by Andre Norton
The witch shook her head. “Not my gate—we meddle not in such matters—though once,” she sat very straight and there was a shadow of pride on her face, “we could do much which perhaps rivaled the secrets of the gates. But—” did her square shoulders slump a little now under the heavy folds of her gray overmantle? “that time is past. Tell me, girl—Kel-Say,” again she drawled out that name, mouthing it as if she said something momentous, “who rules the craft in your place and time?”
“If you mean witches,” Kelsie flashed hotly in return, “there are none—really. It is all just stories— Oh, some people dabble with old beliefs and talk about the moon, have ceremonies which they swear have come down from the old times—but it is all just their imaginations!”
There was silence between them and again Kelsie felt that probing within her head as if the other tested her for some shield.
“You believe what you have just said.” The woman's stare changed from challenge to wonder. “You believe! How did matters go awry then in your time that the true knowledge was so lost? Yet Tregarth,” it seemed to Kelsie that she spoke that name with a lip twist of disgust, “has a measure of the power and he says that he is from your world—by another gate.”
Kelsie pulled herself up to sit on a rock so that they were face to face, the woman not looking down at her.
“I do not know what you mean by power—” But was that the truth? There had been the besieging of the circle and certainly the Rider had used no normal weapon to try to get at her, nor had he been able to force his mount into that circle of stones, yet she could pass easily out and back.
“See? You do—at least power as it is here and now.” The other might well have reached within and read her thoughts. “The scrying said one would come and it would mean portentous things. And Roylane,” again her mouth twisted as if she found it very difficult to say that name, “yielded up her jewel—”
“Not to me,” Kelsie pointed out.
“Ah, yes. The cat. And what is the meaning of that, Kel-Say? Answer me now with the truth.” She raised one hand and snapped her fingers. A flash of blue light sped toward the girl and Kelsie ducked. Not soon enough—the spark touched her temple and it was as if a ball of fire had broken apart inside her head. She screamed and swayed.
“Arkwraka!”
Kelsie, still swaying, saw another lash of fire come apparently from the sky, cutting between her and the witch. A man, one of Dahaun's people, raised his arm again and a second lash of fire, for she could feel the very heat of it, passed before her but not aimed at either her or the witch.
He who had used the flame whip advanced another step or so and Kelsie recognized him as Ethutur, the co-ruler with Dahaun of this place of peace, while at his shoulder, keeping step with him, though he carried no bared weapon, was the young man Kelsie had had named to her as Yonan, one of the scouts who went beyond the limits of the Valley and dared the evil at its blackest.
“You call on no such tricks here,” Ethutur spoke directly to the witch and her previously calm face now was drawn up into a snarl.
Her lips moved as if she would spit like an enraged cat. But when she answered her voice was even enough.
“This one is no kin of yours—”
“Nor of your blood either,” he returned. “If she gives anything she will give it openly and by her own consent. This is a place of freedom—there is no mistress, no servant here—”
“You are all servants!” flared the witch.
“To a greater Power than you or anyone else within this Valley can call upon!”
“The Dark has penetrated many places where the Light says or once said that it holds rule. Even your oath-bound Lady does not know for sure what she has welcomed into the heart of her safe land. Those who come through the gates have gifts, talents, compulsions that none of us can name. I would learn more from this one—that she not be the key by which the Dark can open your gate!”
“Your rule runs over mountain—or it did, Wise One. But it would seem that you cannot now summon any quorum of your sisters to do much more than the Wisewomen who follow the Lady can. You came to us of Escore for aid for your losses and now you go your own bold way and do not abide by the bounds laid upon power here. You know well that the use of one power always awakens the Dark and in a way strengthens it by that arousing. I say to you now—go your own way or that shall not run with ours!”
“You are a man!” Now there were flecks of spittle shot forth from her lips, an unusual flush painted her sharp cheekbones. “What do you know of Power save through such toys as that!” she gestured to the whipstock he still held. “The higher power—”
“Is for any who can hold it—man or woman,” he said. “We follow not your ways of Estcarp here. There are those to be named who wrought mightily in the old days and who were also men. Boast not too loudly of your sistership, seeing to what it has been reduced.”
“To save our world!” Her flush was fading but her eyes were wells of anger and Kelsie could feel that emotion, or believed she could, issuing forth from that spare, gray-cloaked body.
“To save your world,” he nodded. “Well you wrought for your people. But again I say your ways are not ours and under our sky remember that.”
He spoke with none of the emphasis which anger had given her words but she was still wrapped in a red rage as she turned and walked away from them. And Ethutur did not turn to see her go, as if she had already been put out of mind. He spoke now to Kelsie:
“You would do well to avoid that one. She brings with her all the narrowness of the west and I think that she will be a long time giving way to another way of life. It is true that the witches of Estcarp wrought mightily to defend their land against two different evils, but in their last battle they not only exhausted their realm of power but they also lost many of their number, drained of life itself. Now they come questing here for a renewal of what they lost—not only power for those still alive within their citadel but also for those with talent whom they may take and train in their own ways of life. And I do not think, Lady, that you would find what they have to offer good—”
“She came to me,” protested Kelsie, “not I to her. I want nothing more from her. And this power of which so much has been said, I do not know or want it.”
Ethutur shook his head slowly. “In life it is not what we want which balances our scales—rather it is what the Greater Ones have seen fit to give us at our birth hour. There can be that locked within a man—or a woman—which such do not know that they bear and which comes forth at a time of stress unsummoned. Once awakened that can be trained as any weapon is mastered by one who wishes to wield it.” Now he smiled and pointed to the young man still a pace or so behind him. “Ask of Yonan what he found to be his portion.”
But Yonan did not match that smile. Instead his face remained in somber lines as if he saw little that was lighthearted in his world.
“Unasked for,” he said as Ethutur paused, “To so gain anything one walks a hard road. But—” he shrugged, “we come to you, Lady, to ask where walks that furred one who came with you through your gate.”
“I don't know,” Kelsie was surprised at his change of subject and the young man must have read that in her expression for he added:
“There is reason.” Yonan had been carrying one arm close to his chest, the bulk of a cloth wrapped loosely around it. Now he held it out to her and there sounded a thin mewling cry. The movement disturbed the wrapping of the cloth and she saw a small white furred head upheld, blind eyes fast shut, and a mouth open for another cry.
“The gray ones,” Yonan's voice was harsh, “cornered a snow cat and had their pleasure with her and one cub. This one Tsali found and rescued. It will die if it cannot be fed.”
“But it is so big,” Kelsie was already reaching out for the well-wrapped cub. “It must be as big as both of the kittens—and the wildcat—”
“Swiftfoot,” he corrected her and she looked at him amazed.
“Have
you already named her then?”
“She named herself to the Lady of Green Silences. All which run, fly or swim, and are not of the shadows, are friends to the Lady. But the cubling will die—”
“No!” The weaving of that blindly seeking head, the small wail of hunger and loneliness brought Kelsie out of the preoccupation with herself and the anger of the witch to the here and now. “She took her kittens to a place of her own yesterday. I have not seen her save when she came to feed.”
As he relinquished the weight of the cub into her arms she knew that she must indeed find her fellow wayfarer and see if Swiftfoot would accept a fosterling. Some cats did so readily as she well knew.
Surely the wildcat had found a lair somewhere along the gashed cliffs which sheltered the Valley. Their many shallow caves and cracks would attract her—and it could not be too far from the living houses as the cat had easily come morning and evening for her own nourishment.
Kelsie gathered the bundled creature to her and then looked to Yonan.
“What is this?”
“Snow cat,” he repeated shortly. “The mother must have been hunted well out of the mountains to come so far afield. The gray ones are roaming afar when they fasten on such prey.”
The cub was nuzzling her fingers, sucking hungrily, halting now and then to whimper its need. Resolutely Kelsie turned her back on the gathering of houses and the tents of the people who were not Valley born and headed for the cliff side. As she went she began to call—not the “kitty-kitty” of her own time and place but with her mind. Before that moment she had not thought of trying to do that. It was easy enough to picture the wildcat and her kittens, to hold to that picture and keep on summoning, in a way she could not have put words to, that unsought companion in her adventure.
She was aware that Yonan followed her, but some distance behind as if he feared in some way to confuse her searching. They scrambled over several falls of rock and past one stream which bored through the hills to find its path to the river. Then Kelsie stopped short.
It was as if a new sense had been added to the five she had carried so far through life. This was not scent, sight, nor hearing, but it was touch of a different kind. As she concentrated upon it the wildcat came into sight around the side of a large boulder, one of those on which ancient carvings had been so weathered that only traces of their pattern could be sighted. Kelsie took a step toward her and Swiftfoot's lips drew back in a warning snarl. Though the girl had carried both the cat and her kittens on their journey to the Valley, Swiftfoot was announcing that this had been only a temporary measure and she would allow no more such liberties. What had they said back beyond the Gate, that no one could tame a true wildcat? It would seem that such warnings were right.
Kelsie went no farther. Instead she juggled the wrapped cub to one hip and braced herself against the ancient work to come to her knees at its foot. Then she settled the cloth on the ground before her and pulled away its folds so that the hungry and now continually wailing cub was wholly revealed.
She carefully kept her thoughts to herself. Even if she could think Swiftfoot into coming to examine this newcomer she would not dare to try. She knew too little about this new force she had tapped to try to use it further.
The cub continued to wail. Swiftfoot snarled and then her slitted eyes turned toward the youngling. Slowly, only an inch at a time as she might have advanced upon some prey, she came forward, belly low to the gravel, stopping now and again to eye Kelsie who held herself stiffly quiet, waiting.
Perhaps the cub scented something of its near kin for now its head swung toward the cat, though its eyes could not see, and its wail reached a higher pitch. The cat sprang and Kelsie flung out one arm fearing that death rather than life for the cub was the result of her experiment.
Swiftfoot crouched over the cub which was perhaps a fourth of her own size. Her tongue flicked forward and licked the blind head. Then she sought to grip the loose rolls of skin at its neck, to carry it as she might one of her own kittens. It was almost too great a task for her. The cub bumped along the ground, still wailing, as they disappeared from sight behind the rock. Kelsie turned and saw Yonan some distance from her watching intently.
“She will accept it, I think,” the girl said. “But whether it can survive—that no one can promise.”
For the first time she saw a shadow on his serious face—a shadow which might serve for a smile.
“It will be well,” he seemed very sure. “This is a place of life, not death.”
Kelsie thought of all she did not know about the Valley, about these people, of all which she must learn. Must learn? Again that thought thudded home. All Tregarth's talk of gates and how one passed by a single way through them, how much was true? Perhaps all the asking in the world would not tell her that. But what she could learn—that she would.
“You are not of the Valley people,” she stated that as a fact not a question. There were truly two humanoid peoples within the Valley—to say nothing of those who were winged, pawed, hoofed, or scaled.
“No,” he dropped down facing her, sitting cross-legged, the rumpled cloth in which he had carried the cub lying in a heap between them. “I am of Karston kin—also of the Sulcar—”
He must have seen from her expression that neither word meant anything to her for he launched into more speech than she had heard since Simon Tregarth had ridden out a day earlier.
“We are of the Old Blood—from the south—or my mother was. And when they drove us out because we were what we were we came into the mountain borderlands and took service against the Kolder and those who put our kinsmen to the death. Then when the witches turned the mountain—”
“Turned the mountains!” Kelsie broke in. Maybe she could accept some things but the turning of mountains was not among them.
“All those who ruled in Estcarp,” he continued, “they gathered their power so it was as if it were wielded by one alone, and that they threw against the earth itself, so that the mountains tumbled and arose anew, and no man could recognize the border thereafter.”
It was perfectly plain that he believed every word he was saying no matter how impossible the feat he described.
“Then,” he was continuing, “we sought land of our own and Kyllan Tregarth came to lead us into the older homeland, even this Escore. But there was ancient evil here and it awoke at the coming of the Tregarths for their sister Kaththea is a notable witch, though she wears no jewel, and, what she did in ignorance troubled the land. So once more we war and against a host of Darkness which is more than men such as we faced before. Strange indeed are some of our battles—” He glanced down at his own hand where it rested upon the hilt of his sword. She remembered then that these men who went mail clad were different from the changeable people and seemed often to have hand close to some weapon or another as if they expected nothing but war and alarms as a way of life.
“Who is Simon Tregarth—you speak of Kyllan—”
“Simon is one who came through a gate—even as you, Lady. He was great in the councils of Estcarp when they went against the Kolder and has but recently returned from another venture which took him beyond the accounting of men. He is wed to the Once-Witch Jaelith and sired Kyllan, Kemoc and Kaththea all at one birth. That was a marvel unknown before—the warrior, the warlock, and the witch—and all have done great things in this land.
“But there is still much to be accomplished here. Also there are many things which a man cannot understand—” he was frowning again and running his fingers around the hilt of his sword, even drawing it a fraction once and then slapping it back into the scabbard.
“And some such have happened to you,” Kelsie encouraged him when he fell silent, wishing to store away in her memory as much as she could of this place and all there was to do with it. That she was caught here at least for now she could no longer deny. So the more she knew the better it would be for her in days to come. Though what part she could play in such affairs she could not see, nor did s
he wish to speculate.
“Such happened to me,” Yonan agreed. “For a space we have believed that we have beaten back the shadow and that it sulks in its own fastnesses. But you have told us of a Sarn Rider who has dared to come this near to the Valley and deal death to one who should have been mightier than he—”
“Roylane?”
It seemed to Kelsie that he winced as she repeated that name.
“A witch has no name. To give one's name among them gives them power over another. Yet she said her name to you and her stone came with the cat. Thus another change—”
Now she looked at him squarely, catching his eyes and holding them in a way she had never tried with anyone before—as if she could compel him to answer even against his will.
“What do you think I am?”
It was a matter of four or five slow breaths before he answered and then he said:
“You were summoned—the Lady Dahaun had the foreseeing of that. And none can come so unless there is a geas laid upon them—”
“A geas?” she demanded.
“A fated journey or deed against which nothing nor no one can stand. Yes, we knew that one would come—and perhaps they did also or a Sarn Rider would not have dared the inner hills. What your geas is—that you will discover for yourself, Lady—”
“You are right about that,” she returned grimly, forced against her will into at least half belief.
Five
Kelsie arose abruptly, turning to the rock in which those weird spirals and indentations were plain as the sun moved.
“I know nothing of this . . . this geas—”
He shrugged. “Sometimes that is so and you will find that it leads you only after many days— But where it points, there you shall go.”
“You speak as if you know something of such things beside just idle tales.”
Yonan again looked at her with the shadow smile. “Now that is also the truth. It once fell upon me—this need for doing an action which I did not plan and—”